Project Mew: Racing Light
by shadow djinni
Summary: Second installment of Project Mew. The truth about the Project has been revealed, and as the Mews struggle with morality the battle intensifies. Calliope and her allies race to find a solution, while the Eastern Seaboard Mews hold down the fort and the Tokyo team defends Japan from the nefarious 'Project Deep Blue'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the delay, I had the prologue written already but had my computer confiscated. *pouts***

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_In the late twenty-first century, human technology finally made it beyond the solar system—and plunged straight into conflict with extraterrestrials. The aliens, which identified themselves as 'Cyniclons', demanded control of Earth. Humanity, of course, resisted, and the planet was thrust into a war, now deadlocked and in its tenth year._

_ Humanity's sole defense and weapon against the alien invaders is an organization of genetically engineered human-animal hybrids known as Mews. Every nation has at least one team, and each team consists of six members: Leader, Second, Techno, Tactician, and Aces, and is led by a human Head of Research and Detection and a Coordinator, along with a team of scientists to assist with and monitor the Project._

_ The Project's leaders thought it was infallible, that the Mews would obey their orders and follow their mission to its completion: the complete destruction of the Cyniclon species. But something went catastrophically wrong. A lapse in security allowed a Mew access to the mission statement and plan details, and strong morals led her to escape and organize a revolt._

_ The Project is in chaos, morality conflicting with duty as the Mews must wrestle with their true alliances. The Cyniclons are in no better shape: a traitor has compromised their counter-project and abandoned the mission to aid the rebel Mews._

_ Three sides aligned in a three-way fight—Mews versus Cyniclons, and rebels versus both sides. The only hope to save two worlds is in the hands of two Mews and two Cyniclons in the form of a blueprint and a dream. But the road to victory is long and complicated, and many may yet give their lives for a cause they no longer fully believe in…cannot fully believe in. The very existence of two races hang in the balance, and those who wish to save them must move quickly._

_"Anyone can be faster than a shadow—we are always outrunning shadows. But to save our worlds, we must be faster even than light, faster than those who bear their own torches, and bring the light first…"_

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**A/N: Here we go! Fair warning, this story will do a bit of jumping-as I hinted in the summary, ****_Racing Light_**** will focus on three groups rather than one, and several other teams will be mentioned or make cameos...which means I need more Mews. I'm rescinding what I said in ****_Project Mew_****'s prologue, so anyone who has already sent me a Mew can send me another one if they like-but I'd like scientists and Cyniclons too, since they're just as important. Just remember, the profile format is on my profile page, and I'd hate to reject anyone's OC just because they didn't use the right format.**

**Anyway, the next bases to show up will be the San Francisco Mews, the United Kingdom Mews, and the Sydney Mews. San Fran has a Second and a Beastmaster; UK has a Techno, and Ace, and a Tactician; and Sydney has a Second. Other than that, all positions are open.**

**For the old readers, some stuff I left ambiguous in ****_Project Mew_**** will be clarified, but things will get even crazier. And, wolfwingsbrenna, that thing you noticed? It's intentional. I'll explain it all later.**

**As a closer, I'd like to thank everyone who helped me with ****_Project Mew_ and welcome the new readers. Thank you all-you are my reason to write.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm back! Sorry it took so long to update, my parents grounded me from my computer almost immediately after I posted the prologue. Two side notes today:  
1: Do not copy the Cyniclon who shows up around the middle of the chapter. He's different for a reason.  
2: At the end of chapters, instead of author's notes I'll post factoids about this AU, particularly stuff about the Cyniclons which may or may not be important later. Some of it will just be trivia, but there might be some important stuff in there later.  
Enjoy!**

To say that Ichigo was nervous when Shirogane called the team into the Briefing Room that afternoon would have been an understatement. She was scared to death. She knew Berry had told him about their encounter with the rebel Mews, and she _knew_ he knew she knew, so she was understandably anxious. Not for herself, but for her team and her country. Lorem had straight-up told them that Japan was a major target for Project Deep Blue-whatever that was-and that it had to be protected at all costs. That and she was running under the assumption that Kisshu and Taruto, the cooperative members of the group of Cyniclons attacking their base, had been reassigned to a different base to keep them from interfering with the Cyniclons' Project and the Tokyo Mews no longer had any hope at allies on the other side. If Shirogane grounded them all from fighting for 'fraternizing with the enemy', Japan was in deep trouble unless they could get the Korean Mews to come over and help.

Upon entering the room, her anxiety lightened considerably. Shirogane was frowning, sure, but it was a nervous, thinking scowl rather than a wrath-of-the-Coordinator grimace. His eyes were deeply worried.

"Shirogane-san, are you alright?" Lettuce asked hesitantly.

The blond jumped. "Ah, yes. I'm fine, but there are lots of others...less fine right now."

"What happened?" Mint asked.

"Antarctica has fallen," he said.

"That's not possible," Zakuro said. Her usually stoic expression betrayed her, showing the barest hints of her shock and disbelief.

"Impossible or not, it happened. Their AI sent out a final transmission a few minutes ago, before it was destroyed. I have the video right here." He looked Ichigo straight in the eye, clearly asking whether or not she wanted him to play it. Odd. He usually didn't ask her permission first.

"Play it," Ichigo said, uncharacteristically serious.

Shirogane pulled the file up on the computer and pressed play.

The camera that took the video was close to the ground-which made sense, since the rover was a small, tank-like affair built to withstand the climate—and evidently mounted on a periscope, since it swiveled faster than the robot itself could turn on its axis. It gave the Mews a panoramic view of the carnage the aliens had caused.

From the outside, the base didn't look all that bad until you noticed that every door had been ripped off its hinges. The smaller personnel doors lay in splinters and tangled shards of metal, while the bay doors for vehicles had been smashed in, leaving great chimaera-sized holes in the steel. The nearest one had streaks of red along the left side of the hole. The rover rumbled through one of the personnel doors, showcasing snowdrifts already blowing across the cement floor. Frozen puddles of blood, human and chimaera, dotted the floor, ranging from barely more than a few droplets to larger than a man.

The hulking corpse of a chimaera loomed in the semi-darkness of the room, already covered in a fine layer of frost. Its head had been blown off, but the body looked like a shaggy seal-dog hybrid. The body of a Mew lay only a few feet away, her features clearly recognizable as the team's Second. Her long, feathery black-and-white hair fanned out in a halo around her head. Her pitch-black eyes were wide, and her face was frozen in a look of shock. Her throat had been slit, frozen beads of blood glittering along the cut like garnets. The rover trundled past without regard for the dead girl...but then again, it was a robot without even the rudimentary personality Shirogane had programmed into MASHA.

As the rover travelled deeper into the base, it passed more and more corpses. Some were chimaera, but many more were scientists and researchers-the Antarctic base had been a multi-national research center for nearly a century before it was expanded to include the Mews. Only Zakuro noticed something rather disturbing about the methods of death employed. The chimaera had been killed in various ways, likely depending on the Mew who did it, but every researcher the rover passed had been decapitated and the body laid on its front with the head nowhere to be seen. And as they passed the bodies of the Mews, it became evident that each and every one of them had been killed in the same way as the first Mew—with her throat cut, and the only other injuries inflicted during battle.

The rover's directional display indicated that the Mew's bodies had been laid with their heads pointing towards the south magnetic pole.

And then, as the rover approached the central control room, someone reached down and grabbed it, lifting 18 kilograms of freezing steel with one bare hand. The camera swiveled to face its attacker.

He was distinctly Cyniclon, with the characteristic high cheekbones, angular features, and long pointed ears. And yet, there was something distinctly _wrong_ about him. His eyes were the same shade of blue Ichigo remembered Lorem's being, but the hair that framed them was blond. _Blond._ No Cyniclon on record was blond-that was a distinctly human color.

The Cyniclon smirked at the camera, pointed eyeteeth flashing in a display of triumph. His right cheek was smeared with bright red—human blood.

"A human recording device," he remarked, studying the rover coldly, almost as if he were looking _through the camera_ at them. He had the musical Cyniclon accent, but his made minor chords that sounded like icicles jangling together and set shivers down Ichigo's spine. He turned his head and said something in his own tongue to someone standing behind him, then turned back to the camera.

"I bring a message from the Council," he said. "Your Southern Pole is now under Cyniclon control, and will continue to be so until our Project has run its course. Other locations will not be long to follow; as we have developed methods for dealing with your...how do you say it in English...your biological weapons." He glared death at the camera. "And we know you harbor one of our own among your number. Return him, and your deaths will be honorable. Fail to do so, and you will live long enough to regret it with every molecule in your bodies."

He had been holding the rover with his right hand, and at that point in the clip he raised his left hand into view of the camera. Something silvery and metallic stirred at his wrist—it looked almost like mercury, except it flowed upwards, curling around his long, slim fingers. A tendril of it lifted delicately, turned toward the camera, and shot straight at it. The screen went dark, and the audio cut out a second later. The last thing it captured was the Cyniclon's cold, jangling laugh.

Ichigo shuddered. She couldn't believe it. Antarctica was well-known for having the strongest Mews on the planet—they had to be, to survive on the bottom of the world. And now they were dead. She turned to her team and found them in various expressions of shock and horror. Zakuro's stoic façade had cracked, her violet eyes huge and disbelieving. Mint looked absolutely horrified and disgusted. Lettuce had buried her face in her hands, her slim shoulders shaking with sobs. Pudding trembled, brown eyes wide as saucers. Unlike the others, Berry just looked pissed.

"Those monsters! You see, Ichigo, this is why we can't trust anything those traitors said! They're running around, spreading alien propaganda while their allies go and murder our people! I suggested we stop them while we had the chance, but no, our 'wonderful Leader' insisted on playing nice, and now look what's—"

"Enough, Berry," Shirogane cut in. "I doubt this is somehow Ichigo's fault. But at any rate, the Cyniclons have showed their hand. They're moving in, which means we have to be on our guard, particularly if that Cyniclon you girls encountered was telling the truth about their plans." His blue eyes focused on Ichigo. "Mew Ichigo, I'll be relying on you more than ever now. Can I trust you?"

"Of course! What kind of a question is that, you jerk?!"

"A valid one. Berry has told me you're acting like you're planning to abandon the Project, and I'm inclined to believe her."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "After what Calliope and Lorem said, I'm not going anywhere. Japan needs me, my team needs me—Shirogane, if I leave the Cyniclons will take Japan like they took Antarctica! I can't let them do that, even if I don't agree with killing them all just because the government is paranoid!"

Shirogane nodded. "That's all I needed to hear." He redirected his attentions to the team. "Be alert, all of you. They've taken Antarctica, but that's one low-importance area and they won't get anywhere else."

"Shirogane-san," Zakuro interrupted. "They only need to take over two other locations before they win. They've changed tactics. We, however, have to keep our same tactics, because if we abandon them they can revert to their original plan. We're fighting a defensive war."

Shirogane made a shoo-ing gesture, indicating that everyone except Zakuro should leave. Ichigo and the others filed out reluctantly, and the Coordinator and Tactician stood silent, face-to-face.

"You know how rarely defensive wars are won, Shirogane," Zakuro said. "We're playing a losing game."

The blond's shoulders slumped, and he seemed to age decades in mere moments. "I know. But we have to keep fighting and acting like we know we'll win in the end, because if we give up people will panic. You know enough about history to know what that causes."

Zakuro nodded, studying the human's face. They were so different—mindset, worldview, psychology—but somehow they still managed to find the same page. She like that—it meant he thought like a wolf.

**Factoid: The Cyniclon spoken language is impossible to translate to English because of the sheer variety and complexity of words and interpretations-that and it's impossible for humans to speak, since it requires a second set of vocal cords. Instead, they translate their alphabet directly to the English one and vice-versa, putting their own terms into English sounds where there isn't a word that means the same thing. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I did good on update speed this time, huh? You should probably be able to tell from this chapter and the next couple that ****Racing Light**** is a bit faster-paced than ****Project Mew**** was.**

Calliope always found something new to marvel at whenever Lorem let her use his computer to hack Project Mew. The speed was breathtaking, the graphics beautiful, the interface easy to navigate and understand, even if you didn't read the Cyniclon's glyphic alphabet. And, as she'd found completely by accident, it didn't even register to the servers or firewall when you accessed a secure server. A Cyniclon computer was a hacker's best friend—and best of all, a miracle of technology that folded up smaller than a piece of gum, ran on solar power, and, when unfolded, was lighter than anything humans made. It didn't even really _look_ like a computer, more like a screen used for holo-projections. In short, she loved it.

Her fingers darted across the smooth surface, tapping lightly on icons, tracing lines and arcs between them, until she finally pulled up the Project database. New notifications had appeared from various bases, which she skimmed, looking for patterns. Hits on the North Pole had gone down drastically in the last week alone—just before she left the Project the Cyniclons had strike teams going in every few hours, leaving the teams in the area worn out and paranoid, but now they hadn't attacked in nearly three days. Attacks on the bigger cities were also going down, and strikes in rural areas seemed to be increasing. Then she hit one which stopped her in her virtual tracks: the fall of Antarctica. The bat Mew gulped.

"Hey, Lor?" she asked, glancing across the cockpit of the Bug at her partner, who was the craft's only other occupant, as Hellebore had teleported on ahead to set up a temporary base and taken Lyra with him. The blue-eyed Cyniclon had several programs projected on the windshield interface, one of which he shut down as soon as she looked at him.

"Yes? Is something the matter?"

"Antarctica was one of Project Deep Blue's targets, wasn't it?"

His face lost all color in a heartbeat. "Oh, please tell me they _didn't_…"

"They apparently took over the base and killed off everyone there."

Lorem replied with an outburst of sharp hisses and a deep, throaty rumble, something Calliope assumed was a swear in his native tongue. "They're moving faster than I'd thought," he said. "I'd hoped my leaving would slow them down, but perhaps since I've compromised them, they accelerated the timeframe of the Project."

"Nice job screwing everyone over, hero," Calliope quipped. Lorem stared at her in confusion.

"First and foremost, you know full well that my name is not 'hero', and I have done nothing involving anyone and a cylindrical human implement used to hold two pieces together. Furthermore, wouldn't involving such a tool mean I repaired something?"

Calliope facepalmed. "No, Lor. It's slang. Basically, it means you ruined everything."

"Ah." Lorem gave her a long, unreadable look, before saying, "Human slang is confusing."

"Better confusing than unpronounceable."

"Only because you lack the required second set of vocal cords."

"Not my fault!"

"But an unfortunate side effect of being close to eighty-percent human."

"Seventy-five percent. I looked it up."

"Regardless, we've gotten off topic. We no longer have time to contact the Australian Mews as we planned. We'll have to go straight to our search, and that requires stealing a base ship."

"I know that! What do you think I am, stupid?"

"Headstrong, yes. Utterly fearless, yes. Reckless and occasionally foolish, yes. Stupid? No."

"Then why did you feel the need to remind me?"

"I have my reasons. Now, please, stop arguing with me and focus. I need you to get in touch with Hellebore and Lyra. Get them here as quickly as possible so we can plan our attack before carrying it out."

Calliope sighed, closed out of the Project's database, and quickly 'called' Hellebore's…well, she could only call it a tablet, since the device was much smaller and had less capacity than Lorem's computer. After a few seconds, the Cyniclon's face filled the screen.

"We're done setting up," he said bluntly. "You don't need to check in."

"That's not the issue," Calliope said. "Project Deep Blue apparently decided they were gonna move a bit quicker. Can you and Lyra break down the base and get back to the Bug in the next hour or so?"

Hellebore's ears twitched down and back at an angle Calliope interpreted as irritation, and his golden eyes narrowed slightly. He stared at her for a long minute—more of a glare than anything—and Calliope met the look evenly. Eventually he nodded his assent, a short, sharp jerk of his chin, and the screen blanked.

The bat Mew shut down the computer, watching in fascination as it automatically folded down to size, and leaned back in her seat to prop her feet up on the equivalent of a dashboard in a human car. Then, grinning, she accessed the Bug's computer and hacked the first heavy metal Earthnet-Radio station she could remember, looking for the perfect song to get her all pumped up and ready to rock. Lorem shot her a confused look.

"What?" the blonde asked defensively. "I _like_ metal."

"If I don't try to listen to the English lyrics, it's all swearing in my language," Lorem said. Calliope grinned.

"That's awfully appropriate."

An hour and a half later, the four were reunited, armed with one of Lorem's plans—which rarely, if ever, went according to plan—and had located the nearest Cyniclon base ship. They stopped the Bug on an isolated island somewhere in the south Pacific, and Lorem activated the Bug's camouflage mechanism—an adaptation of a fairly common Cyniclon ability, the bending of photons around an object so it wasn't visible to the naked eye. Then Hellebore linked arms with Lyra and teleported.

Calliope nodded slightly. The plan was for Hellebore to put the two Mews on board first and leave them to cause chaos all over the ship while Hellebore incapacitated the commanding officers and Lorem hijacked the whole of the ship, grabbing ahold of and controlling every electronic command like a parasite manipulating a large and unruly host. The only issue with that plan was that he had to have access to the main computer, and for Lorem to get in safely, the others had to keep every Cyniclon on the ship _away_ from the control room.

Before Calliope could get too antsy, Hellebore was back. The much-taller Cyniclon grabbed her wrist and teleported again. The strange jolting sensation, combined with a feeling of falling and drowning at the same time, reminded her why she preferred flying. She landed on the metallic floor of the ship with a _clang_, feeling vaguely nauseated and slightly off-balance. She shook her head to clear it and looked around.

Hellebore had evidently left while she recovered, and the corridor he'd dropped her in was empty. Shame, she'd been looking for a fight as soon as she landed. Calliope's ears twitched. Her animal DNA source, the Giant Golden-Crowned Flying Fox, relied more on its sense of smell than hearing, but her impaired vision meant she relied more on her ears than most Mews did, and a keen nose wasn't much use when the whole ship carried the damp-soil scent of Cyniclons. She heard Lyra yelling and the sound of fighting from the left corridor, grumbled slightly, and took off to the right.

Her boots pounded on the floor, _clanging_ with each step. Calliope practically stomped to do it—her usual run involved her wings pushing her up and forwards rather than down, and she slammed her feet against the floor. Hopefully the noise would get the attention of any Cyniclon close by.

She slammed against one of the ship's weird oval doors, and it dilated open. The Mew exploded into the room—and promptly regretted it. Apparently, the red door meant that was where they were keeping the chimaera. Three huge, lizardlike monsters stirred from a scaly heap, while a smaller bearlike chimaera raised its head and blinked beady, aggressive eyes in her direction. Calliope's hand dropped to the hilt of her sword.

"Well, probably ought to get rid of 'em now before they become a problem later." She whipped the laser weapon from its holster, ramming down on the button that activated two meters of sizzling devastation.

The first lizardlike chimaera was up and after her in a matter of seconds. Calliope launched off the floor, wings whipping open and hurling her upwards. She twisted, boots hitting the ceiling and pushing her back towards the chimaera. Her sword flashed, unfortunately missing the monster's head but slicing off part of its forearm. It hissed, staggering back on three legs, and the one behind it lashed out at her with its tongue. She dove.

"Part chameleon, hey?" she said, bouncing off a wall to avoid the bearlike chimaera. Its claws slashed the air just above her ears, and she kicked it in the face. A faint hissing sound registered in her right ear, and she twisted aside just in time to dodge the sticky tongue of the third lizard chimaera.

A slash of her sword later and the chimaera's throat had been seared open. Its mouth gaped in surprise and a desperate attempt to get air flowing past the breach and into its lungs. Calliope ignored it after that. It would probably pass out in a minute or so anyway. She dodged the first and second ones' tongues, shooting up to the ceiling for a quick assessment of the battlefield.

All three remaining chimaera circled below her. The dying one was off a bit to the left, lying on its side in its death throes. The crippled chimaera lashed its tongue at her, and she dropped to avoid it—and ran straight into the bear chimaera's claws.

Calliope slammed into the wall and hit the ground hard. She sat up, wincing and shaking her wings to check for broken bones. Fortunately, none, but her left side and hip throbbed dully from hitting the wall, and four sharp points of pain jabbed at her on her right side. Probably bruising. She rolled just in time to dodge the uninjured lizard chimaera. She scrambled up and backed into the doorway, holding her sword out in front of her.

Something warm and wet splattered onto her right hand. Calliope looked down for a split second and saw red. Blood. Now that she noticed, the hair hiding the right side of her face was clinging and soaked.

_Crap. That hit must've reopened that old injury._

"Stay back, damn you," she said, brandishing her sword threateningly. "I came to kick ass and chew bubble gum, not get _my_ ass kicked."

The bear chimaera stepped forward, and she slashed her sword at it. It staggered back, roaring, with both eyes seared shut and the wound across its face cauterized as it was made. The other chimaera studied her, heads tilting.

"Yeah. Bring it. I'll take you out." She feinted, then leapt at the crippled chimaera, sword swinging. Its head rolled like a lopsided bowling ball.

The uninjured chimaera lunged at her, and she spun aside to avoid it. She ducked the blinded chimaera, leapt over the uninjured one, and shot straight up towards the ceiling before reversing directions and spearing the uninjured one through the right rear leg. Its tongue ripped her sword out of her hand, and she drew her knives in time to block its next attack.

The next part went astonishingly smoothly: she sliced the tip of the lizardlike chimaera's tongue off, dodged its claws, got up under its neck, and scissored her knives across its throat. It flailed backwards, spouting blood from its carotid artery. The blinded chimaera lunged at her, and she dodged it as well. A leap into the air landed her on its back, and she rammed the larger of her two knives home into the base of its skull. Down it went.

It was only after she retrieved her sword from where it lay over by one of the walls that she noticed the strange noises coming from the loudspeakers. It took her a few seconds to recognize it as Cyniclon speech, and a few seconds more to recognize Lorem's voice. Her ears lowered.

"Shit."

Quite frankly, Lorem was surprised nothing had gone wrong yet by the time he reached the ship's control room. Usually by that point some unexpected factor had come into play—a change in tactics, a person who shouldn't have been there, Calliope goofing—but so far, things had gone off without a hitch. Which bothered him. Lorem _liked_ plans, and he liked when they worked, but he'd found that improvising whenever someone threw a wrench in the works was possibly more fun than the original plan itself.

He walked silently into the control room and was disturbed to find it deserted. There should have at least been one person in there, monitoring the controls and gauges to make sure the fighting didn't damage the ship, but it was entirely empty. His long ears tilted and turned, and his eyes darted around the room before looking up at the ceiling just to make sure no one was lying in wait for him. Nothing. Odd…but he would take it.

He padded softly to the control board and swiped his fingers across the smooth, glassy panel. It lit up, throwing holograms in the air above it and displaying various symbols and glyphs on the screen in front of him. Lorem nodded slightly, feeling the paths and intentions of the electricity inside the machine. A warm brightness responded in his core, the electricity in his body responding to his slightest thought. Tendrils of lightning sparked between his fingertips and the control board.

He nodded again, information flashing from the ship into his neurons. In a way, the ship was becoming an extension of his body, almost like the nano-weapon he wielded in combat, which was currently wrapped around his right forearm in the form of a bracer, only the ship would be far clumsier and less responsive since it wasn't programmed for a user to interface directly from brain to computer.

Abruptly, the control room's security registered someone entering. Lorem snapped out of it, jolting himself away from contact with the ship, and whirled around to face the person who had entered. His heart nearly stopped. He knew that person…and he could already tell this wouldn't be a happy reunion.

The intruder smiled, flashing sharp eyeteeth. His bright blue eyes sparkled—would have looked playful if it weren't for the edge in them. His thick blond hair, as always, was pulled back in a long ponytail. He had a few centimeters on Lorem, but otherwise…the only way Lorem could put it was that they wore each other's face. Mirror images.

_"I knew you'd be back,"_ the intruder said.

_"Illium,"_ Lorem said. _"What do you want?"_

Illium frowned at him. _"What, you aren't excited to see me? When I felt you on the ship, I thought for certain you'd realized the mistake you were making and coming back home."_

_"What gave you that idea?"_

_"Why else would you be back?"_ The blond Cyniclon walked closer. Lorem backed up, placing his hand against the control board in exactly the right spot to turn on the PA system.

_"Not to come back to the Project. I can't, in good conscience, come back to a group that wants to commit mass murder when I've found another way to fix things."_

_"Oh, please. The terraformer? It's a defunct piece of garbage by now, and even if you could get the right parts you would be too slow. The Council got tired of waiting, Lorem. They've already sent Ao's team backup. That base won't last the week, and then all we have to do is focus on the last location. Your gamble isn't going to pay off."_

_"I've made my bets, and I refuse to forfeit. If you want me to come back, you will have to drag me."_

_"So be it."_

Lorem quickly regretted it. Illium was less powerful, but he made up for it with impressive control of his nano-weapon. The 'blade' was in the blond's hands in a flash, and Lorem barely dodged his mirror's strike. His own weapon was up in a second, shifting into a shield, which just barely deflected the next strike. It shifted again, back into a sword, and he lunged. His sword-tip sliced through a few strands of hair beside Illium's face. Illium, in response, smashed his sword's hilt into the side of Lorem's head. The black-haired Cyniclon staggered, stumbling back against the control panel. Illium grabbed him by his collar and pulled him upright.

_"Drag you back, Lorem? You should have agreed to come quietly. It would have been much less pai—"_ A large black object struck Illium in the back of the head, almost knocking the blond over. He was forced to drop Lorem, who rolled away as best he could.

"Touch him again and I'll rip your arms off and stick 'em in your ears." Lorem had never been so glad to see Calliope in his life.

The projectile, evidently, had been Calliope's right boot. The left one was still in her hands, and she stood on the floor in her socks. Her hair was clotted with blood, her clothing stained with it—both her own and something else's. She looked bruised and battered and utterly furious.

"Who do you think you are?!" Illium demanded, switching to English.

"Calliope," the Mew replied. "Now it's in your best interest to piss off before I make good on my threat."

"Hm. I'll take that risk." Illium lunged, nano-weapon snapping back into a blade. With practiced ease, Calliope's knives whipped out of their sheathes and were up in a cross-block just as Illium's blade hit them and her boot hit the floor. Mew and Cyniclon strained against each other for a moment.

Then the end of Illium's sword warped, striking at her face. Calliope ducked it and planted her foot in his chest, hurling him across the room. She leapt after him, knives slashing. They darted around the control room, weapons throwing reflected light and bodies casting shadows. Lorem stayed out of the way.

Suddenly, Calliope slammed Illium across the room and into a wall with a well-timed hilt strike to his sternum. He staggered upright, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

"You're a good fighter. I understand Lorem's attraction."

Calliope glared daggers. "If you're trying to flirt after attacking Lor, it ain't gonna work. I don't like you."

"…It's a pity you're so ugly," Illium finished. Calliope steamed.

"Say it again, rat-face. I'll rip out your tongue and feed it to you."

"That would be my cue to leave," Illium replied, a taunting look on his face. He turned and fled out one of the doors. Calliope started after him.

"Wait," Lorem said, standing cautiously. His head throbbed where Illium's blow had landed. Calliope turned towards him, bright ruby eye softening.

"You okay?" she asked, ears pricked.

"For the most part," he replied. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," she replied sardonically. "So who was that guy, your evil clone or something?"

Lorem's right ear twitched. "Or something."

**Fun Fact: When translating gendered nouns or pronouns, Cyniclon language uses the suffix -a for a male, -ai for a female, and -i for groups or individuals without specified gender. Therefore, rendered properly, a male Cyniclon would be Cyniclon-a, a female would be Cyniclon-ai, and if you couldn't tell, Cyniclon-i. Note, 'Cyniclon' is the proper name for their species, much in the way 'human' is the proper name for ours.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I decided to take a little peek at the Eastern Seaboard Mews-don't worry, we'll be back on Calli and Co. next chapter.**

* * *

The tension in the air at the Eastern Seaboard base was thick enough that, if Amu so chose, she could have taken one of her knives and sliced it like bread. At Coordinator Merrill's insistence, the team ate with their Head and Coordinator, and breakfast was more hostile than the average fight with the Cyniclons. Sakura sassed anyone who spoke to her, Currant argued with literally anything the Ace said, Coordinator Merrill tried and failed to break up the fight, while Rei—the Head—and Bree tried to stay out of the crossfire. Amu just watched. It was a better idea than getting involved, and the chaos of argument went against logic.

Inevitably, Currant got fed up. "Just shut up, Sakura! I am _so_ sick of you right now it isn't even funny." She stood up, shoving her chair backwards so it toppled over with a _bang_. "I'm going to train. Anyone who wants to join, come on." She stalked out of the room, tail straight up in the air behind her. Everything went dead silent. Bree slipped out of the room next, almost unnoticed in the ensuing commotion.

Amu was the next out, trying to ignore Coordinator Merrill standing on top of the table and yelling at Sakura at the top of his lungs, Head Nishina trying to pull him down, and Sakura screaming right back. She groaned inwardly. The team was a big ball of conflicting personalities, and the two Mews who had gotten along with almost everyone—well, Lyra hated her teammates less than the rest of the Project, and Calliope was friendly with everyone except Sakura if you ignored her hacking rivalry with Bree—had left. After the reveal, the team had devolved into near-constant fighting outside of combat, without the icebreakers to ease the tension. After all, stuff like this was usually resolved with the removal of all weaponry from the Mews' wing of the base and a few carefully placed buckets of water. The jaguar Mew was half-convinced that her team could fall apart at any moment.

She ducked into Bree's room and found the smallest Mew perched in her chair at her desk, fingers flying across her keyboard and yellow eyes glued to the screen. Amu took a moment to study her. Bree was the second-youngest Mew on the team and by far the tiniest. Her long, dark hair, in sharp contrast with her pale features, made her look waifish and insubstantial and her shy personality made her easy to overlook, but behind those pale, luminous eyes was a formidable mind. Amu adored and admired her.

"How are you?" she asked, sitting down on Bree's bed. The mouse Mew jumped, startled, and spun in her chair.

"Oh! Amu! Sorry, I didn't hear you come in." Bree was blushing now. She always did that when she got flustered. "Ummm…did you need something?"

"Nothing. What are you doing?"

"Seeing if I can get access to Calliope's computer. She took it with her when she left and it _should_ still be connected to the mainframe, but either she disconnected it, installed some sort of Cyniclon firewall or the equivalent, or she either wiped or replaced the hard drive, all of which are equally possible."

"Either way, you have no access."

"Right. I even tried inputting her computer's identification code to see if I could get anything, but nothing came up, which implies that her hard drive was wiped since even if she replaced it we could find where she dumped it and ask around to see if she'd been sighted in the area, but…"

"The last time anyone saw her was Japan, right?"

"Right."

"Any success on the Cyniclons yet?"

"Nope. I found their communications system pretty easily—they actually hacked the Earthnet satellites to broadcast their signals too—but their code is like nothing I've seen before. It'll take me a couple of weeks at least to figure out the basic units."

"It's not 1's and 0's like our code?"

"Not even close. I can't tell what any of it means."

"So they know our code, but we can't crack theirs. That means…"

Amu frowned thoughtfully. That was bad. The Cyniclons, if they wanted it, had complete access to everything if they could get through the firewalls protecting it, and open communication between bases left more holes than Swiss cheese. As Calliope had so artfully proven. By contrast, if they couldn't even interpret the Cyniclon's computer code—much less translate their written language—the aliens would always have the advantage. She didn't like that one bit.

"Well, keep working at it. You'll get it soon enough," Amu said, patting Bree on the right shoulder. The mouse Mew smiled bashfully and returned her attention to the screen.

* * *

In the training room Currant ran one of the solo simulations, facing off against a hologram of any one or two individuals whose fighting styles were stored in the program, chosen at random. It had elected to be especially sadistic today, since Currant ended up fighting Lyra—always devastatingly powerful—and a Cyniclon called Cumin, who specialized in ranged attacks. Though the two had never fought on the same side and the attacks didn't hurt, merely making the 'health meter' on the edge of the virtual-reality headset go down, it was still irritating when she ended up 'killed' by them. She hurled the headset across the room and smirked at the satisfying _crack_ it made when it hit the wall, secure in the knowledge that even if she couldn't destroy her enemies she could still break equipment trying. But it didn't take long for that smirk to fade, for her confident, irritated mask to drop.

It wasn't easy being Leader, keeping the weight of every issue her team faced resting solely on her shoulders. She was tired. She was frustrated. She was fed up with Sakura's bullcrap but knew there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it without killing the other Mew, and knew her team couldn't afford another loss. She did all the reports herself, she kept her team informed only where they needed to be, she tried to keep them together…

"God, I've turned into a politician," Currant mumbled. "Damn it. I hate politicians."

She kicked the headset, wishing someone's head was in there. Preferably Eli's. It was, after all, his fault they were in this whole mess. He should never have left Calliope unattended with direct access—read: no firewalls—to the Project's database and with full knowledge of her tendency to poke her nose in places she shouldn't. Maybe if Calli's head were in there, Currant would be able to kick some sense into the blonde. Regardless, she had a job to do.

Abruptly, an alarm blared somewhere deep within the base. Currant grinned and ran for her gear. An alien attack was _exactly_ what she needed right then.

* * *

Central Park on a Saturday. Sakura couldn't believe the Cyniclons' audacity. But there they were, two tall, slim figures hovering over the well-manicured lawn as chimaera wreaked havoc on the New Yorkers picnicking in the park. Her eyes focused in on the shorter, curvier of the two: her habitual enemy and near-stalker, Cinnamon. Blue eyes locked with hazel, and the female Cyniclon dive-bombed the Mew, laughing like a fiend and swinging her scythe. If Death were a Cyniclon, this—in Sakura's opinion—was what it would look like. The Mew sprang lightly out of the way and drew her laser batons. They were smaller and less ranged than Currant's laser cannon, but no less deadly.

"Long time no see, sweetheart," Cinnamon mocked. "I was beginning to miss your boring, human face."

"Missed you too, maniac," Sakura snarled before firing off a laser bolt.

Cinnamon's scythe swung, and Sakura felt the EMP pass through her as a thudding sensation in the center of her chest. The laser fizzled and died midair. She swore under her breath and fired again, leaping all around the hovering Cyniclon and firing at all angles. Well-timed EMPs took care of them all, and Sakura was forced to rely on her knives to deflect the razor-sharp edge of the scythe aimed at her face. They stood immobile, glaring hatred at each other, weapons locked.

"Well, now what?"

Across the battlefield, Bree dueled Coriander. As the most senior Cyniclon—he'd been attacking the base longer than she'd been in the field—he was probably the de facto leader, but Currant was needed elsewhere on the battlefield. And she was suited nearly perfectly to fight him anyway; her war fans were equally suited to deflection and attack. She flipped out of the way of a shot from his plasma rifle and shivered as those cold yellow eyes passed over her body. She didn't like the way he looked at her—almost like how a hawk or an owl looked at a potential meal, only she didn't think he wanted to eat her.

Another plasma bullet hit her fan, and she winced. The piece of machinery was durable, but delicate in its own right, and if it took too many hits it would damage the generator inside and cause it to stop working—or worse, explode.

Abruptly, Coriander was right in her face. His hand clamped around her wrist like a vise, and Bree stifled a scream. "You're mine," he hissed in her ear.

"Get off!" Bree shrieked, twisting her wrist and kicking him in the shin. His grip tightened, grinding the bones of her wrist against each other, and she really did scream that time.

"I don't need you in perfect condition, little Mew," he whispered, twisting her arm painfully. "I just need you in good enough shape to…" his voice dropped so low it was scarcely audible, bringing out his heavy Cyniclon accent, "…take you apart and find out _what makes you tick_."

Bree screamed at the top of her lungs—a war cry, not an expression of pain or fear—and slashed her war fan across his face, paralleling the silvery line of an old scar. He hissed and released her, placing a hand over the injury and glaring at her. Bree shuddered and pressed the button on the base of her fan, her sharp ears catching the electrical hum as it came to life.

She slid the weapon closed, concentrating the negative charge at the tip, and launched a lightning bolt at her target. All it did was singe his clothes and frizzle his hair out of its ponytail, but it was enough. He took three steps back and, on the third step, vanished. Bree ducked into the tree line to catch her breath and study the battlefield.

Sakura and Cinnamon had detached from their lock and dueled up and down the length of the lawn, neither managing to land a blow. Cinnamon's scythe cut giant divots in the grass, making her look like an inexperienced golfer whose ball—Sakura's head—kept dodging. Currant and Amu handled the chimaera—Amu had taken up a post in a tree and was sniping at the chimaera, while Currant's laser strafed the area, leaving gaping wounds in every chimaera the beam touched. Bree turned her attention to the remaining civilians, hustling those who had stuck around to watch out of the park.

Currant laughed as her laser seared a hole through a chimaera's head. It felt good to take her frustrations out on something she could actually hurt and kill. And the chimaera seemed weaker than normal—though maybe that was just her being so angry. Her adrenaline had probably hit the point where nothing could reach her, and it just felt like the chimaera died quickly. Beside her, Amu dropped out of her tree, hamstrung a chimaera, and slashed the knife across its throat. It dropped; the spray of blood and fanning of black-and-purple hair eerie mirrors.

"Well, that was the last of 'em," Currant said, slinging her cannon across her back. Amu nodded and swiped her knives across the chimaera's hide to remove most of the gore. Across the lawn Cinnamon teleported out, but not without leaving a nice gash along Sakura's arm. Currant groaned in frustration.

"Saks, you alright over there?"

"Fine! It's not serious!"

Currant facepalmed. 'Fine' usually meant 'it hurts like a SOB, but I'll live' and always required Currant filling out a damage report. "God damn it. I hate paperwork." She sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Come on, guys. We're headed back to base."

* * *

**A/N: The DNA for the chimaera is actually taken from Earth animals and spliced together in giant monsters. The Cyniclons actually got the idea from human horror movies, which frequently feature mutant or otherwise abnormal animals, and ran with it. It gets less and less effective as a psychological tool and more effective as biological weapons of mass destruction as time goes on.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And now, back with Calli and the gang...**

* * *

Lorem was a little surprised Calliope's head hadn't exploded yet. They'd completed their mission of capturing a base ship, but it came with a little extra surprise: Hellebore had entered the control room with a second shadow. The newcomer had messy green hair and eyes flecked with varying shades of red-orange, a bit shorter than the bat-winged Mew. He was grinning in a way Lorem _knew_ would set Calliope off the instant he laid eyes on the newcomer…who looked oddly familiar now that he thought about it.

"Hellebore," Calliope said, her voice dangerously quiet, "Who is that and what is he doing here?"

"Yarrow," Hellebore replied, shrugging.

"But what is he _doing here?_"

"Wasn't my fault. He popped up out of nowhere, betrayed his teammates, and said he wanted to join us. I just ignored him, but he came along anyway."

"You didn't even think about stopping him?"

"Would've been too much effort. Besides, he's tough enough to be useful."

Calliope arched a cynical eyebrow. "Meaning…"

"I think I know who he is," Lorem interjected. He'd just figured out why Yarrow looked so familiar, and he didn't like it one bit. "You're from the other part of Project Deep Blue, aren't you? The side working with the impaired."

"I think 'impaired' is a bit rude," Yarrow replied, frowning slightly. His eyes flashed a bright yellow. "And you're from the main front, the one doing the genetic engineering."

Lorem nodded. There wasn't any denying what he was any longer. He'd have to come clean about it now, who and what he was, what he'd been created to do…how close Illium had come to forcing him to obey his orders and betray his friends. He could only hope Yarrow wouldn't give him away before he could tell Calliope the truth—after all, she was the one he was worried about hurting. Knowing her, she'd hit him.

"I'll explain later," Lorem said, catching Calli's eye.

The blonde nodded. "Right. Anyway, we got some messes to clean up, and then I need to wash the mess off _me_."

Lyra snickered. "Trust you to find a way to get in a fight with a chimaera and end up covered in it."

"Hey!" Calliope yelped. "There were four of them, and they were hungry."

"What do you mean by _that_?" Yarrow asked. Calliope and Lyra looked at each other, exchanged nods, and turned towards him

"Don't. Ask." they said in unison.

* * *

Hellebore wasn't sure what, exactly, he was supposed to do. The new guy was buzzing around like a mosquito on caffeine, Calliope was peeved, Lorem suddenly got twitchy—not that that was _too_ weird considering who it was—and Lyra had disappeared, apparently to 'take a nap'. He found himself in the control room, watching Lorem and Calli play with the computer and trying to ignore Yarrow.

"Hey, Calli!" Yarrow chirped, peering over the blonde's shoulder. "Calli. Calli. Calli."

"What?!"

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Trying to figure out how you turn on the stupid scanner-thingy so we can look for this terraformer-chumpey."

"Cool!"

"But you're kinda distracting and I can't read this stuff anyway…"

"You can't read?"

"Not your language. English? Cyrillic? You bet. Cyniclon? Snowball's chance in hell."

"What's hell and how would a snowball do there?"

"The place where bad people get punished, and it's hot, so the snowball would melt."

"Sounds like a torture chamber."

"Pretty much." She suddenly snapped upright, glaring daggers at him. "Listen, Yarrow. Either buzz off or translate this stuff for me, 'cuz you're really distracting."

"Hmmm…nah. This is more fun."

Calliope looked about ready to explode. Her ears went back against her skull, and her wings had spread just enough to make her look intimidating despite being shorter than the average Cyniclon female. That bright red eye burned with fury.

"Now listen here, you…"

"Calliope. Please calm down." That was Lorem, ever the voice of reason.

Hellebore clamped his hand down on Yarrow's shoulder. "Enough."

"Yes sir, Boss!" the green-haired Cyniclon yelped. He then darted out of the room. Hellebore facepalmed.

Calliope folded her wings and brushed the bangs on the left side of her face out of her eye. "Thanks, Hell."

"No problem."

Lorem put his hand on Calliope's shoulder. "I'll translate for you."

"Maybe you can teach me a little Cyniclon later…"

Hellebore left the room. He didn't want to watch their awkward almost-flirting. Quite frankly, if they just came out about it, it would make things a lot easier to deal with. Well, that and Lorem finally coming clean so he wasn't constantly tiptoeing around the Mews. From the way _they_ acted, it wasn't all that awkward to be an artificial person.

He found Lyra in what served as the common sleeping quarters on board one of the base ships, taking a nap on the huge floor cushions his people used instead of the stiff, inflexible wooden things humans preferred. She was curled up in the middle of one, her knees drawn up to her chest and tail resting over her like a blanket. Hellebore's face softened into a smile, and he perched himself cautiously on the edge of the cushion. Her eyes opened—beautifully, gloriously mismatched—and she smiled sleepily at him.

"Hey," she mumbled, rolling over to rest against his hip.

He could feel the heat of her skin through her clothing, so much hotter than his people or even an ordinary human. Mews always ran hot. It was one part disturbing—how they managed to fuel something as energy-expensive as excessive body heat—and one part comfortable, like curling up next to a fire or a running machine. Except Lyra smelled better than heated metal. He was tempted to kiss her again while her guard was down, except she'd probably slap him. Instead, he levitated over to the center of the cushion and pulled her against him, enjoying her closeness. She jerked back a bit, giving him a reproachful half-glare.

"You're _cold_."

"You're hot."

"Thanks." Judging by the look on her face, 'hot' had other connotations than just 'warmer than air-temperature'. He arched an eyebrow, and she grinned playfully before curling against his chest.

* * *

Hours later, Calliope and Lorem were still bent over the interface in the control room. They'd found the scanner, maneuvered the base ship to a lower orbit, and begun a scan for the specific alloy the blueprints indicated had been used in the terraformer. And while that was running, Lorem had begun teaching Calliope the basics of the Cyniclon glyphic alphabet.

"So lemme get this straight," Calliope said. "This squiggly thing over here translates to the same sound as a 'th' in English?"

"I've been trying to tell you that for the last hour," Lorem said. Calliope groaned.

"I'm never going to get this. Your language makes no sense whatsoever. If only I had something to...wait a minute!"

"What?" Lorem asked suspiciously.

"If you can write out what syllable each symbol stands for and I can figure out how to code on your computer, I can test a few codes and set up a program that'll translate Cyniclon glyphs to the English alphabet, since we already found a program that translates the language to English! Your computer's almost perfect for that since from what I've seen it runs almost like a Linux, which is a software person's dream..."

"…Okay?"

"You didn't understand what I said, did you."

"Much the same as you failed to understand my language lesson."

"So we're even."

"No, we aren't. You intend to do something with my computer."

"Well, my boring human computer doesn't like interfacing with Cyniclon computers."

"Pardon me for mistrusting you, then."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Perhaps."

"Good! It means your English skills are getting better!"

"Grammatically speaking, my 'English skills' are superior to your native skills."

"Nope. _Slang_ is the future of the language. Understanding slang and whatchamacallits is important too."

"Whatchamacallits? You mean colloquialisms?"

"Yeah. Those things. They do important stuff."

"You see what I mean about superior English skills?"

"Just because you have a bigger word-pool!"

"Vocabulary."

"Whatever! I'm a fighter, not a writer. I don't need to English as well as someone who writes stuff does!"

"Oh, so English is a verb now?"

"Yes, I just declared English a verb!"

"Was _that_ sarcasm?"

"Of course! What did you expect?"

"Irony."

"What?"

Lorem laughed—the laugh Calliope liked, the one where his azure eyes closed and his head tilted back, his laugh ringing out like dozens of bells struck in unison. His shoulders shook with mirth, and he slumped against the interface, still laughing.

Then, abruptly, he sat up, laughter vanishing in an instant. "There's something I need to tell you," he said, suddenly intense. His eyes bored into her, sharp as ice and inescapable as cold in Antarctica.

"I'm listening," Calliope said, startled and off-guard.

Abruptly, the interface began flashing and beeping—the scan had located something with similar properties to the alloy of the terraformer. Lorem and Calliope both jumped.

"…I'll tell you later," Lorem said.

"Alright. I'll call everyone else in." The bat Mew poked the icon that enabled the PA system. "_Attention everyone. We've got a hit on the scanner, everyone get in here so we can discuss a plan of action. I repeat, everyone in the control room to discuss a plan of action."_

* * *

**A/N: The gene that controls the amount of electrical energy a Cyniclon can produce and channel also has partial control of eye color, and eye color is a shorthand in Cyniclon society for power level. Certain colors also indicate a propensity 'special abilities' such as Taruto's plant manipulation.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And now, back to Tokyo!**

* * *

Ichigo was on the battlefield for the third time in as many days. But it wasn't the same fighting she was used to—and, quite frankly, she missed it. Kisshu and Taruto were gone, and two new Cyniclons had taken their places on the team. She'd taken on one of them, a youngish male with ultramarine hair and brilliant orange eyes, who used a weapon something like an over-powered Taser. Zakuro was handling the other newcomer, a silver-haired teen with shocking golden eyes and half a dozen knives concealed in various places in his armor.

The Cyniclons seemed to be moving farther and farther away from Tokyo with each strike, but today they had swarmed downtown with half-a-dozen chimaera. The fighting had already demolished a skyscraper, which would have worried Ichigo more if she didn't know the citizens had evacuated to the cement shelters under the buildings—designed specifically in case this sort of thing happened. As it was, it just made her angrier.

"Stop flying around like a coward and fight me like a man!" Ichigo raged, pursuing the blue-haired Cyniclon down a side street.

"You mistake me, cat. I am no man! I am Cyniclon, not your pathetic race!" he replied mockingly.

"Well if you're so great, then prove it!"

He fired a bolt from his Taser and Ichigo narrowly dodged it. According to Shirogane's analysis of one she'd brought in, they were made of two three-centimeter plugs of solid aluminum, and he'd found evidence of an aluminum cord finer than a hair connecting them to conduct the electricity—not something you wanted hitting you. The bolt struck a garbage bin behind her. Ichigo growled.

She glanced around, making sure none of the Mews would be in her line of fire, before whipping her Strawberry Bell from its holster. The weapon was a comforting weight in her hands. She raised it, aiming directly at the Cyniclon.

"Reborn Strawberry Surprise!" Ichigo shouted. She could feel the vibrations from the Bell in her chest and was glad she stood behind it instead of in front of it.

The blue-haired Cyniclon dropped out of the air like a fly struck by a magazine, hitting the ground hard. Ichigo's ears caught the sound of something _snap_ping as he landed—probably his wrist. Then the Cyniclon was screaming at the top of his lungs, the air around him wavering dangerously. He collapsed backwards—and vanished into the ripple of air. Ichigo lowered the Bell. She was almost glad he'd teleported, considering that Shirogane had programmed the new frequency to be lethal.

It was then she heard movement behind her. Ichigo froze, ears swiveling to catch the slightest rustle. And there it was again; the faint whisper of cloth on metal. Ichigo spun around, aiming the Bell at the threat—

—Only to find that it wasn't a threat at all. The lid of the garbage bin flipped open, revealing the human hiding inside. The Mew was more than a little surprised.

He looked about sixteen, her biological age, with short, dark brown hair. He was obviously half-foreign with his darkly tanned skin and pale blue—almost silver—eyes, which were currently wide and terrified. An undignified hamster-like squeak escaped his throat. Ichigo lowered the Bell.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound non-threatening. "I thought you were one of the Cyniclons." She shoved the Bell back in its holster, and the boy slumped in relief.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he replied. "I…was out in the street when the attack started and this was the first place I could get to." He looked awfully embarrassed—his whole face had gone red. Ichigo shook her head.

"You're lucky the chimaera didn't notice you," she replied. "A garbage bin won't stop one for more than a minute." The boy paled drastically and hopped out of the garbage bin, swinging long legs over the side. Ichigo watched with keen interest. He was fairly attractive. "Listen…" She hesitated, not knowing what to call him.

"Masaya. Aoyama Masaya," the boy said hastily.

"Okay. Listen, Aoyama-kun. The second you see an opportunity, get to that building over there—the one with the red sign in the window. There's a shelter in the basement."

Masaya looked relieved. "Thank you…um…"

"Mew Ichigo," Ichigo said.

He flashed her a hesitant smile. "Thank you, Ichigo-san."

Ichigo didn't stick around to watch him—a chimaera jumped across the street over her head, and she leapt after it with her knives unsheathed. If she could keep this one busy, that was one less to attack the helpless human running across the street. Her knives slashed across the chimaera's hide and it whirled to face her, fangs dripping acidic saliva.

* * *

The red-haired Mew was more than a little relieved to find no trace of Aoyama Masaya when she returned to the side street almost an hour later, just to make sure he hadn't run into trouble. Evidently he hadn't, since there was no sign of human blood anywhere between the mouth of the alleyway and the building she'd pointed out to him. Ichigo was glad he'd made it—someone like him was too cute to die.

She quickly turned and stalked back up the main street, joining back up with her team. Surprisingly, none of them had come out badly injured. Zakuro had a few cuts on her forearms, Berry was black-and-blue, Lettuce was limping slightly, but aside from that and the typical scrapes and bruises nobody was hurt. Ichigo smiled.

"Alright everyone. What happened on your end?" the feline Mew asked.

"Damn chimaera knocked me through a wall," Berry sulked.

"My opponent escaped. Still no information as to his identification," Zakuro stated.

"I got stuck fighting Pai this time," Mint muttered, looking angry. "He nearly broke my bow."

"Nothing exciting happened to me," Lettuce said. She looked a bit put-out that Pai had chosen Mint as his opponent.

"Pudding misses Taru-Taru and Kisshu, na no da," Pudding said. "They were more fun to fight with, na no da."

Ichigo nodded. Things had been easier before Kisshu and Taruto had been transferred—if more obnoxious. She still wanted to punch Kisshu, even more now that he'd left and she was still utterly confused by him. She didn't understand what went on in his head, why he insisted on bothering her, what he _wanted_—and now that he was gone, she'd never get to ask him. Stupid Cyniclon.

_No,_ Ichigo thought as the group made their way back to the base. _Stupid me for paying attention to him. If I'd just ignored him earlier it wouldn't bother me now._

She made her way down to the labs, poking her head into Keiichiro's workspace. The brunet was bent over his lab table, pencil scratching frantically across the surface.

"Ne, Akasaka-san," she said. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to design the next team," he said, then hesitated before turning his warm grey eyes on her. "I don't mean to doubt your abilities, Ichigo, but with how aggressive the Cyniclons are being lately, we can't be too careful."

"I'm not mad," Ichigo replied. "So what have you got so far?"

"I've only got one so far, a girl with Humboldt Penguin DNA. She may be the leader, but that depends on the designs of the others who I haven't planned yet."

"Cool! When do you think you'll finish her team?"

"I don't know." Abruptly, he looked up from his paper and locked eyes with her. "Shouldn't you be reporting to Ryou now?"

Ichigo facepalmed. "I completely forgot! See you later, Akasaka-san!" She darted out of the lab and down the hallway to Shirogane's lab. The blond was playing around on his computer—something with a graph, which he shut down the second she entered and turned in his chai to face her.

"Mew Ichigo," he said. His face was hard, and Ichigo could smell the stress on him. "Report."

"Nothing new," she replied. "We have no information on the new Cyniclons, no idea of what they're planning to do, nothing. It makes me a bit worried."

Shirogane nodded. "It worries me, too," he confided. "It feels like they're preparing for something big, but I couldn't tell you what."

"I'll keep an eye out for anything suspicious," Ichigo said. Shirogane relaxed infinitesimally, and the Mew allowed herself the feeling of satisfaction. This situation bothered her just as much as it did the Coordinator, and if she helped him he'd help her too.

It never occurred to her to mention the boy she'd rescued. Why would it matter? She saved civilians every day just by being there.

* * *

Sage, the silver-haired Cyniclon, nearly bumped right into the boy on the way out of the infirmary. He'd been in to check on Parsley, his new teammate, and was headed back to his own room on board the base ship. All he saw at first was the distinct lack of Cyniclon ears and tanned skin, and the knife strapped to his forearm was in his had before the person he'd bumped into registered. He dropped the knife and went down on one knee, head bowed.

"I'm so sorry, sir!" he gasped, shaking. "I didn't recognize you, I'm sorry, please forgive your humble servant—"

"At ease, Sage," Aoyama Masaya replied. "You've done no harm."

"Still, I must apologize for my misconduct, sir."

"I accept your apology," the boy replied. The air around him glowed for a moment, and when the light faded, so did the glamour cloaking his true form. Brown hair deepened to raven and lengthened significantly, tan skin paled to porcelain, short ears seemed to stretch impossibly, human clothes faded into a dark blue trench coat, black pants, and deep grey shirt—only his eyes remained the same hue. "Just try not to make a habit of it."

Aoyama continued down the hall, and Sage scrambled up after him.

"Sir, were you among the humans?"

"I was."

"But sir, the Project requests…"

"This is none of the Project's concern. As Illium handled his target as he so chose, I shall do the same to mine—and I choose to make a game of it." A smile crossed his face—an animal's smile, cruelly fanged and predatory. "I will play with the Mews' weaknesses and take them down on my terms."

Sage bowed his head. "As you wish…Blue Shadow."

* * *

**A/N: Every successful creation of Project Deep Blue has a code name which references their primary talent, which are, as follows: Deep Blue, Blue Knight, and Blue Shadow.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Back with Calliope and the gang...  
While Lyra, Hellebore and new-guy Yarrow investigate the hit on the scanner-quite possibly the terraformer the group is looking for-Lorem reveals his secret.**

* * *

Lyra winced at Yarrow's squeal of delight when Calliope told him he got to go on the recon mission with her and Hellebore—Lyra, not Calliope since the older Mew had some kind of code started on Lorem's computer and didn't want to leave it half-done. For a nice-sounding baritone, he had an astonishingly painful falsetto. She wondered how the others' ears were coping; even Calliope had keener hearing than she did. A glance to the side told her the older Mew's ears had gone flat against her head, her lone eye squeezed almost shut with pain. She shot a Look at Yarrow.

"Geez, try not to break any glass with that voice! I'd like my eardrums intact, hey?"

"Sorry," Yarrow replied, going red-violet. "It's just…you know…I mean…it's not every day you get to go on a _recon mission_ with one of your _biggest heroes!_" Lyra resisted the urge to laugh at how funny the looks Yarrow and Hellebore were wearing were. They were nearly the same shade of chartreuse, though Yarrow was a bit closer to Cyniclon normal. Now _that_ was funny.

"…Can we go now?" Hellebore asked, ears twitching. Lyra's watched him long enough that she knew the way he stood, rocked slightly back on his heels, meant he was anxious about something. Probably ready to get going as soon as possible.

Calliope nodded. "Just go in and check it out, and if a fight crops up, _don't_ stick around."

"Why not?" Yarrow asked, big grey-amber-gold-ruby eyes wide.

"Two words: 'recon mission', not 'beat the shit out of every potential enemy you meet mission'."

"Okay."

Calliope fixed Lyra with the Look. "Don't pull a me and end up covered in guts, 'kay?"

And Lyra laughed because there wasn't much else she could do in the face of the girl who may as well be her older sister, who she could tell was worried about her, and her options were laugh or cry. Her options were always laugh or cry, and she had only chosen to cry once, when there were no other options. And that time, Hellebore stole her first kiss and set her on the right path. She was glad he'd done that, but she wouldn't cry again.

"Of course," Lyra said, grinning cheekily. Calliope rolled her eyes.

"Remember—in and out, and if it's the terraformer call us down to pick it up. You've got the comm-clip?" Calliope directed that last bit at Hellebore. The gold-eyed Cyniclon nodded, tapping his right ear, where the clip sat almost invisibly.

"We'll be back soon," Lyra said, grabbing ahold of Hellebore's arm. The much taller Cyniclon grabbed Yarrow by the elbow, and the world twisted violently before she landed in a crouch—hard—on a rock.

The sky above was grey and steely, and Lyra saw flashes of lightning out over the ocean. On any other day the coastline would have been beautiful, but on that day the waves slammed violently into the cliffs and roared like thunder—the liquid counterpoint to the actual thunder going on overhead. Lyra could see the line of rain, maybe a mile offshore and steadily approaching. She estimated about five minutes before it arrived. Behind her, Hellebore knocked a pebble over the edge of the boulder the three stood atop. Lyra stood and turned to face the two.

As always, it was a little strange being alone with a Cyniclon. Well, not Hellebore—it was never strange being alone with him—but being the only Mew around with an unfamiliar Cyniclon left her on edge. Yarrow tapped the screen on his wrist and a holo-map popped up, hovering in the air.

"We're here," he said, pointing to a green dot in the center of the map, "And this is the hit on the scanner," indicating the red dot in the upper-right corner.

"Northwest, then," Hellebore said.

"We'll have to be quick," Lyra added. "That rain's gonna be here in—four minutes, and these rocks are going to get real slippery real fast once it hits."

Hellebore wasted no time talking and leapt over to another boulder to the northwest—the direction indicated by the holo-map. Yarrow collapsed it and jumped after, and Lyra followed. As usual, she had a bit of trouble keeping up—Yarrow was _fast_, and her legs were a lot shorter than either Cyniclons'. Still, she made every jump and caught up at the mouth of a cave. Yarrow glanced back and forth between the waves and the cave.

"Um, guys? It kinda looks like when the tide comes in this will fill up with water," he said, ears tilting warily. "…And the tide's coming in _now_."

Hellebore levitated down into the cave. Lyra and Yarrow shared an oh-my-gods-he's-crazy look before scrambling down after him.

"Hell, are you serious?" Lyra gasped.

"Calliope said to check it out," he replied. "And high tide is at least an hour away."

"Well, that's _wonderful_," Yarrow said, scrambling down behind them. "Let's just hope we don't drown when we haven't found it in an hour."

"We can always teleport," Hellebore said dryly.

* * *

Calliope sighed and set Lorem's computer down. She'd hit a wall on the program—the code was too different from what she was used to, and she wasn't quite sure how to get it to do exactly what she wanted. The blonde almost ground the heels of her hands against her eyes, stopping herself just short. How long had it been since the incident? She knew she should have known better by now, but old habits die hard. She shut down the computer and flopped over backward onto the floor.

"I'm _never_ going to get this right," she groaned.

"Calliope?" Calliope looked up as Lorem peered into the control room. "…This is a bad time, isn't it."

"Nah, I'm taking a break," she said. "What's up?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Alright," Calliope said, sitting up. "What's up?"

"…I don't know how to say this…"

"Maybe start at the beginning?"

"Not helping," Lorem mumbled. He sat down on the floor next to her and took a deep breath. "Okay. So. The beginning."

"We Cyniclons believe that everything that happens, both big and small, are guided by the gods—and by one goddess in particular—Ishtar-kai, the greatest of our gods. She is the goddess of fate, and of the worlds, and the matron goddess of children and warriors, and all who are in danger. Instead of weaponry, like most of our gods, she carries…well, there's no real translation for it…they're like dice, but round, and a small application of our power causes it to display a symbol—we call them ishta-chirai. They symbolize this universe and every other one in existence. We believe that Ishtar-kai guides all of us on our paths through life, and that all that happens is her design.

"Project Deep Blue—the people who started the project—they believe that Ishtar-kai led them to start the project. They were looking up maps of the Earth from our era to compare them to the current Earth, but a glitch pulled up a file containing a digital copy of the DNA of one of our people who lived on Earth three hundred million years ago. They saw it as a sign from Ishtar-kai that this file would be of greater use than the map, and they…used it.

"They replicated this digital copy in the real world and ran several tests, making adjustments to the DNA as they did, but keeping a single group unaltered. All but three 'tests'—experiments—died before they could be considered embryos." Lorem took another deep breath. "I'm one of those three—the one identical to the original genome. I was created to destroy your world."

Calliope shifted under his stare. He looked part desperate, part anxious and part afraid. "…Am I supposed to be mad at you or something?"

"…You don't hate me?"

"How could I? I was created for the same purpose. If I decided I hated you for _that_, I'd be a hypocrite."

"You're not mad because I didn't tell you?"

"It's not what you're made to do that counts, it's what you choose to do."

Lorem gave her a hesitant smile. Calliope smiled back. She leaned in closer. He did too, and their foreheads bumped. Then noses. He was just out of focus, crystal-blue eyes half-closed and nearly glowing. His fingers brushed hers, electricity sparking—literal electricity, not metaphorical. Her eyelid slid lower. And then Lorem whipped her bangs off the right side of her face.

"So that's what was under those bangs," Lorem whispered. Calliope jerked back, putting her hand up in front of her face. Her eye filled with tears—one eye. The other eye hadn't teared up since she was the equivalent of a fourteen-year-old, when she'd lost it.

She'd lost that eye in a fight with a chimaera- foolish and separated from the older team, and the chimaera had ripped her eye out and savaged the right side of her face. That side of her face was lined with thick, ropy scars, and her eyelid had scarred shut over the empty socket. She'd hidden it with her hair the second it had scarred over.

They stared at each other. Calliope's eye narrowed, still full of tears she refused to let spill over. Lorem's expression softened, his eyes lowering away from her face.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't…"

Before Calliope could retaliate, the comm link on the control panel went off. Calliope shoved her bangs back in her face and hit the button, pulling up the hologram. Hellebore's face popped up—he was bleeding from a gash over his eyebrow and his hair was in wild disarray.

"I'm sending Yarrow to get you two," he said. "It's the terraformer, but we've got a fight on our hands and the tide's coming in."

* * *

**A/N: A Cyniclon can hold their breath underwater for an average of fifteen minutes.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: It's been a long time since I updated this, huh? I got all wrapped up in that parody I was working on; plus, I was having problems getting this chapter right. I had two ideas for scenes for this, but doing one would cancel out the other...I finally got them combined into one really intense, emotional scene that I'm still not completely happy with it...oh well.  
By the way, I'm joining a Flash Fiction Month challenge, so I'll be working more on that than this for the next month. Maybe taking a break will get my creative juices flowing again.**

* * *

Yarrow ducked, narrowly avoiding the plasma bolt that shot just over his head. _Well, this was a bad idea_, he decided.

He, Hellebore, and Lyra hadn't had to go too far into the cave before they found the terraformer—or, rather, what he _assumed_ was the terraformer, since it was encased in some sort of protective shell and looked rather dented. He and Hellebore had prepared to teleport it—a complicated operation, since for two Cyniclons to work together on something their electromagnetic fields had to be perfectly synchronized—when all of a sudden, the local Cyniclon team busted into the cave and went on the attack. He actually recognized one from a list he'd memorized of the most capable warriors deployed on Earth—Thyme. If they hadn't been fighting, he would have fangirled—fan-boyed?—but as it what he did as Hellebore said and teleported back to the ship.

He landed in the control room to find Calliope and Lorem both suited up and ready to go. Calliope's face was hard and angry-looking, while Lorem looked uncomfortable and embarrassed. He was tempted to heckle them about whatever happened. Instead, the slightly-shorter Mew grabbed his wrist hard enough that he heard the bones creak and felt them grate against each other.

"Get me down there, now," she snarled, ears back. Yarrow nodded, too scared to do anything else, and grabbed Lorem and teleported.

They landed in what looked like a war zone. Rocks crumbled and fell from overhead, Cyniclon and human blood was splattered on the rocks, the body of a smallish chimaera lay not a meter in front of them. With a roar, Calliope leapt clear over it and into the fray, laser sword swinging. Lorem locked eyes with Yarrow.

_"We have to get the terraformer,"_ he said.

_"Uh, one problem with that,"_ Yarrow replied. _"You can't teleport and I can't move it by myself."_

Lorem prodded him towards the terraformer. _"Then we'll work together. Use my power to move it."_

_"Uh—"_

_"Go!"_

Yarrow scrambled across the rocks, ignoring the water trickling in around his feet. He would _not_ let it bother him. His hands slammed down on the cool, smooth surface of the protective casing around the terraformer, and Lorem grabbed ahold of his shoulder. Yarrow closed his eyes and tried to focus on tamping down the fear and finding Lorem's wavelength.

He found it, and in that moment Yarrow realized why his people's name for themselves meant, quite literally, 'child of the storm'. He'd cooperated with other Cyniclons before, ones with careful control who only allowed him a tiny bit of their power, and they'd felt like a tornado raging against his mind. He himself was only a thunderburst of power. His first impression of Lorem was a tsunami controlled and restrained by the frailest of dams. He was caught up in the whirling maelstrom of Lorem's power, barely keeping enough control of his consciousness to reach out and visualize the control room—and got another shock. He'd heard descriptions of the universe as a piece of cloth, but had never felt it himself; his small storm of power barely enough to teleport him. Now, it was like tracing his fingers across a human sweater trying to find a specific point on the warp and weft of the garment.

His mind snagged on a spot that 'felt' like the control room, like a nail snagged on a loose thread. He focused on the spot and Lorem's power ripped through him. He wondered, briefly, how it didn't kill the smaller Cyniclon before the world dropped out from underneath him and slammed back into place reconfigured. The cool metal of the ship's floor was under his knees rather than stone, the smell of cold steel and glass in his nostrils instead of damp rock and sea. Lorem was panting next to him, not exhausted but exhilarated. His bright blue eyes met Yarrow's grey-gold-ruby-amber ones.

_"That was…did we…"_

_"Yeah. We moved that—"_ Yarrow rapped his knuckles against the terraformer's protective casing, _"—All by ourselves."_

_"I never thought that would be possible."_ Abruptly, Lorem was laughing. _"Ishtar-kai smiled on us today."_

_"I never took you for the religious kind."_

_"I owe the Lady of Fate for my very existence, and for the brilliant stars of the miracles she has cast into my life. Why shouldn't I thank her?"_

Yarrow could find no fault with that reasoning. _"We should go help the others."_

_"Agreed."_ Lorem's power swept him up again, like a leaf in a hurricane, and Yarrow did his best to guide them back into the cave.

They landed on their feet in fourteen centimeters of seawater, and Yarrow controlled the urge to panic. A huge rock slammed down inches from his face. Lorem yelped, electricity leaping from the bracer on his arm to another rock falling, smashing it to pebbles. From deeper inside the cave, a human voice shouted. Lorem's ears twitched.

_"That's…Calliope,"_ he said thoughtfully. Then his eyes widened. _"That's Calliope!"_ Without another word, the black-haired Cyniclon sprinted off into the darkness.

_"Wait!"_ Yarrow shouted, knowing he was too late. He scrambled after Lorem, shoes skidding on damp stone.

* * *

The muscles in Calliope's arms were beginning to shake with the strain of holding a deadlock with the biggest Cyniclon she'd ever fought. Thyme was at least half again as broad in the shoulders as Hellebore was, and, unlike Hellebore, he didn't narrow at the waist. He also had at least twenty centimeters on her, and she struggled to keep his broadsword from bearing down and chopping her in two. At least it didn't do that awkward twisty thing the weird blond Cyniclon's did. That would be impossible to work with. She growled under her breath and tensed.

Then she let her block drop, tucking her wings in and rolling between his legs. He yelped, springing into the air, and she uncurled and jumped after him. The air was her element, even in the awkward confines of a cave, and she kicked off the wall and slammed her feet into his chest. Thyme flew backwards—sometimes levitating made it tough to fight, since an opponent who could use air resistance could slam you around without being slammed herself. She shot after him, dodged a falling rock, and rammed her knives against his sword. It clattered out of his hands.

That was when things went to hell. Thyme grabbed her wrists and _twisted_. Calliope yowled. Her knives clattered out of her hands, and she swore she heard something _crack_. She jerked free and punched him in the face. He snarled and slammed her head into the wall. She roared back and head-butted him, ramming her forehead against his. However, she was the one to stumble, and he took advantage of her momentary weakness.

"Get the hell off me!" she shouted. Thyme said nothing, but he dragged her back-first against his chest, pinning her arms and wings.

Calliope nearly lost it. She rammed her boot into his shin just below the knee and dragged down, attempting to crush the bones in his foot and ankle. He reacted by wrapping his leg around hers and twisting it. Pain lanced up and down her leg.

Then Illium emerged from the darkness deeper in the cave, and Calliope knew she was in trouble. She'd kicked his butt before, but now it was two on one and she was unarmed and pinioned.

_Shit._

"_You_," she snarled.

"Me," the alien replied. "Nicely done, Thyme."

"As you requested, sir," the larger Cyniclon replied. His voice was so deep as to be nearly subsonic, and she felt the words more than she heard them.

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded, ears lying flat.

"Quite simply, you humiliated me," he replied, casually brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "That is unacceptable, a pathetic human like you defeating one such as me, a pinnacle of creation, in single combat."

"So you're going to have your thug hold me down so you can pound me and help fix your poor bruised ego."

"Wrong." Calliope didn't like that look. He had cold fire in the depths of his pale eyes. "I'm going to have Thyme hold you down, thrash you until I feel you have paid for what you did, and then make sure you watch as I destroy your pathetic dream and your entire race."

Without another word, he punched her in the stomach. Calliope refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her pain. His eyes narrowed.

"Scream, little human."

"Little, huh?" Calliope knew she shouldn't antagonize him, but she couldn't resist. "This coming from the shortest person here."

Illium's face went scarlet. "Shut up."

He punched her again. And again. And again. Calliope bit her lip until she drew blood. No way was she going to let him know just how much it hurt. Then he pulled back, and she watched as the silvery metallic thing around his wrist flowed up his hand, encasing his fist in cold metal. He held it up for her to see. She snarled, baring her teeth in defiance. He hauled and hit her again, across the face.

That was when she lost it. That hit tore a yelp from her. And she knew he'd got her beat. Illium was strong, stronger than he should have been, and he obviously knew how to hurt people. His pale blue eyes were alight, gleeful, like a child with a new toy. She was stubborn, sure, but she wasn't immortal, and she couldn't hold out forever. He leaned in, face centimeters from hers.

"This is just the beginning," he whispered. "You can't do anything to stop us. And I'll make sure you watch as your world burns."

Calliope spat in his face. It splattered, red as fury, across his cheek. "You think you're all that, hey? You think you're special, better than anyone else, _perfect_. But as 'special snowflake' as you are, you're weaker than me, and I'm nothing special. I'm not extraordinary for a Mew. Most other Mews are stronger than me, or smarter than me, or braver than me. I'm just the upstart, just the girl who won't commit murder because her boss tells her to. But I have something you'll never have, you bastard. I have a _heart_. I _feel_, and no matter how much you knock me down, I'll only get stronger. And you know what? _My entire species is like that_. You can knock us around all you like, but until the last drop of blood drains from the body of the last human in existence, we'll _never_ stop fighting you."

Illium wiped her blood off his face. "You're stubborn, I'll grant you that. But even the strongest can be broken. I'll take you with me and bend you until you _break_. I'll find your every weakness and abuse them until you beg for mercy. I'll make sure you're there to _watch_ that last drop of blood drip, force you to watch as we tear down everything that shows your race ever existed. And then, when you are the last creation of humanity in existence, I'll kill you in the slowest, most painful manner I can think of."

"Try me, asshole."

Illium hauled back and punched her again.

Someone was shouting back towards the entrance, and everything froze. Then Lorem burst into their little circle of light. His eyes blazed with untapped fury. Electricity snapped through his hair, crackling at the ends of the strands, and sizzled down his body. He roared something in their language at Illium, who roared back.

Calliope exhaled and let herself sag, towing Thyme down with her. Lorem was…he was doing something—arguing with Illium. He had the slightly-taller Cyniclon's collar in his hands and was yelling at the top of his lungs, half commanding and half pleading. Illium argued back momentarily, but, before long, he gave in.

Switching to English, the blond Cyniclon said, "Fine. As you will, Lorem. You have one minute." Then he gestured to Thyme, who dropped her, and the pair stalked off into the dark.

Calliope's knees buckled—but Lorem was there to catch her. He pulled her close, despite how awkward it must have been considering how much taller she was. She rested her face against the top of his head, breathing his earth-and-ozone scent.

"I'm sorry," Lorem whispered. "I'm so sorry. I…"

"I'm fine," she whispered back. "You don't need to apologize for—"

"That's not it." His eyes were wide, fear and concern in them. "Calliope, I made a deal with him. If I return to the main ship with him and…do what I was created to do…he would spare you."

Calliope gaped. "What are you _doing_? You can't turn yourself in for my sake—I'm not worth it—I…I…"

"You're my…oh, how do you say it, I can't English right now…you're very important to me, and I can't imagine a world without you. I _need_ you."

"What are you talking about?"

Instead of speaking, Lorem kissed her on the cheek. Calliope's eye widened. She kissed him back—the only way to respond when he'd just rendered her speechless. A moment passed, and he pulled back.

"Now will you let me explain the other reason I'm doing this?"

"O-okay."

"If I turn myself in, you'll have a contact on the main ship. I can sabotage the third member of Project Deep Blue and anything else, and I can try to convince the Council that my idea will work. If you have an insider, instead of fighting, we can talk the decision-makers into stopping the invasion altogether and instead saving our home planet."

"If anyone can do it, it's you," Calliope said. She was a mixed bag of emotions—elation, sadness, concern…love, if she admitted it. But this was _Lorem_. If anyone could figure out how to turn a bad situation to his advantage, it was him.

Lorem smiled shakily. "Thank you. You'll continue with your plans after I go, right?"

"Of course. If you can get them to listen, one way or another I'll have the terraformer ready when you need it. I promise."

"Time's up," Illium said. "Thyme, take Lorem and go on ahead. I need to talk to his pet a second."

Lorem almost protested, but Illium shot him a look that said, quite plainly, fight with me and I'll castrate you. He lowered his head slightly, and Thyme grabbed his shoulder. They winked out of existence. Illium stalked towards Calliope. The Mew tensed.

"You'll never make it," he said mockingly. "You couldn't even stop me from taking Lorem."

Before Calliope could say anything, much less punch him hard enough to break his nose, Thyme teleported back in, grabbed Illium by the arm, and teleported back out, taking the light with them. Calliope growled.

"That's what you think," she whispered to the darkness. "You may have gotten to hit me a couple times. You may have Lorem. But you _can't _beat me. I'll save everyone, even if it costs me my life!"


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: *rises dramatically from the tomb* I LIVE!**

**...Yeah, I know. I am objectively the worst for abandoning this for...seventeen months...and I'm sorry. Lots of other stuff happened-I started my senior year of high school that fall, and then I did NaNoWriMo last November, and then my best friend dragged me into an original fiction project, which ate my brain until mid-March, and then we started the second draft, and then I started college and the essays for homework gave me whiplash...that, and I thought this fic was dead for the longest time. Turns out, all I needed to do was change perspectives for a little and it came right back to life. Who'd have thought, huh?**

**Now, without further ado:**

* * *

Ao couldn't _believe_ how easily fooled humans were. All he had to do was modify the way photons reflected from his body, and they all took him for one of them at first glance—even ignoring the invisible brush of his concealed mane of hair as possible delusions. Not that he would take such risks again, after his first venture among Earthlings had nearly gotten him caught when he'd rubbed up against one too many of them. The recent cold snap gave him the perfect excuse. Most of the humans he observed wore hats when it was cold, for whatever reason, and it gave him someplace to put his hair comfortably. The rest of the illusion was easy; a mere twist of the light concealed his true identity.

It was disgusting, taking on this appearance, but he'd reviewed his team's reports numerous times, and they were out of options. Outright assaults had failed. It was time for subterfuge, and if it meant him going undercover to compromise those…creatures…then so be it.

He slipped through the crush of humanity like a comet through the void, occasionally reaching out with threads of energy, searching for the particular resonance of Mew Ichigo's electromagnetic profile. There was no forgetting that feeling, Ao had decided. She was distinct from the mass of humanity, a crackle that slid electric across his nerves and ignited emotions he'd repressed since his creation. There was no strength in 'feelings', and he and the other products of Project Deep Blue did not need the weaknesses attachments would bring. He snapped another tendril out and shoved aside thoughts of his fellow 'Blues'—weaklings, both of them. Lorem with his crippling empathy, Illium with his rage—they were both below him, lesser beings. He was far superior to both of them—

There. He'd found her. He craned his head, scanning the crowd for her distinctive red hair, and spotted her half a block up. She was in civilian clothes—tan, knee-length jacket, loose pants, and a floppy hat on her head to disguise her ears—but her gait was unmistakable, that feline spring in her step.

Ao steeled himself. "Ichigo-san!" he called.

The Mew spun towards him, her eyes widening. "A—Aoyama-kun!" she exclaimed, and pushed through the crowd to reach him. He smiled, unsure if he was merely feigning excitement or if he was truly excited to see her.

"I didn't think I'd see you here today," he said. "I wanted to thank you for saving me a few days ago, Ichigo-san. I owe you my life." _I needed to see you again. I need the information getting close to you will give me._

Ichigo blushed almost as red as her hair. "I-it was nothing, Aoyama-kun. I'm just glad you're okay."

His first thought was _cute_. His second, _weak. The Mew was weak—she was only a girl after all. Under the warrior exterior, Earth's last line of defense was merely a girl, with a wide-open heart and _feelings_ he could use._

"Still…" he said, hunching his shoulders and shuffling his feet, then shooting her a look—calculatedly shy and embarrassed—through his bangs. "I want to repay you for it, somehow."

Oh, she was definitely blushing now. Cute, definitely, and malleable. She was putty in his hands. "Um…maybe we could go to a café?" she suggested. "I'm supposed to be undercover to watch out for…you know…and maybe if we…um…"

"That's a great idea, Ichigo-san," he said—and, impulsively, reached out to take her hand. "Let's go."

Ichigo blushed again and sputtered, adorably, hopelessly flustered, and Ao fought to hide a grin. He _had_ her in the _palm of his hand_, and all it took was feigned helplessness and false sweetness. He _literally_ had her in the palm of his hand. He was holding her hand. His heart raced out of control.

He let her pick a café, stood and smiled while she squealed over how _cute_ everything was and ignored how it made his sensitive ears hurt, paid for their order with a credit card he swiped off a passerby, and sat at a table by the window with her, holding hands across the smooth, flat surface. She smiled sweetly and spun a story about her rhythmic gymnastics practice and the meet she had coming up, giggling about the other girls on the team.

"I'm sure none of them are as good as you," he said, pushing the smile.

Ichigo blushed. "Oh, I don't know about that, most of them have been doing it a lot longer than me. So how about you, Aoyama-kun? Are you in any after school clubs?"

Ao replied with the first one he remembered. "I'm in my school's kendo club."

"Really?!" Ichigo was beaming. "Are you good?"

"I'm not the best one there—Sensei says I have a lot of room for improvement," he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his head to complete the illusion of embarrassment.

The Mew laughed and squeezed his hands. "Hang in there, Aoyama-kun. I'm sure you're much better than you think."

He blushed. "Oh, I don't know."

"Are you in the regional tournament next weekend?"

"Oh, no. I'm not quite good enough for regionals yet. Maybe next season I will be, though—Sensei says I'm almost there."

"That's amazing!"

A waitress stopped by with their order, and once she'd moved out of earshot, he leaned in and said quietly, "So why are you undercover in the city today? Don't the Mews usually go wherever an attack is?"

Ichigo lowered her voice, too. "Shirogane-san—our boss, really—said his equipment picked up alien signals somewhere in downtown, so we're supposed to be out looking for them. He's worried they're going to tamper with public safety equipment or the water or power supply, or something else to hurt humans without putting themselves in danger, and maybe take us out too since we wouldn't notice an attack like that until it was too late."

Well, that was a strategy he hadn't thought of—mostly because of how underhanded it was. "But they've never done anything like that before, have they?"

"No," Ichigo replied, brushing her fiery bangs out of her eyes. "That doesn't mean Shirogane-san isn't going to be paranoid, though, especially with how sneaky this alien is being."

"Sneaky?"

"The signal comes and goes, and it was moving all over the place."

"Out among ordinary people?" Ao raised an eyebrow. "I saw an alien, once, I don't think they could blend in _that_ easily, especially with ears like that," he said, and, feeling foolish, held his hands up in front of his ears and waved them, mimicking the real ears hidden by his illusion.

Ichigo burst out laughing. "That's what _I_ said! Maybe he's hiding them with a big hat or something."

"That would be pretty obvious too, though, wouldn't it?"

"I think so, they have really big ears." She was still giggling, one hand raised to cover her mouth. "You're pretty smart, Aoyama-kun."

That time, his blush was real. "Thank you, Ichigo-san. You're pretty smart too."

"No way," the Mew replied. "Zakuro-san and Minto-chan and Lettuce are much smarter than I am."

"But aren't you the leader?"

"That doesn't mean I'm the smartest person on the team, just that I'm good at knowing who's better than I am at some things and putting them where they can do the most."

She took a big bite of her cupcake, smearing frosting on her nose. Ao, on impulse, reached out and wiped it off, then popped the frosting in his mouth. The effect was instant. Ichigo went crimson and practically hid behind the dessert. Ao laughed.

"You're really cute, Ichigo-san," he said. Ichigo squeaked, clearly embarrassed, and turned to look out the window.

_Stupid, Ao,_ he thought. _The Japanese usually don't move that fast. Stupid, stupid—I hope I didn't mess this up!_

They spent a few more minutes in silence, Ichigo finishing her cupcake, Ao picking at the tart he'd chosen. It was…different, certainly, from most foods he was used to. He hoped nothing in there was poisonous to his species. _That_ would be an embarrassing way to go.

It wasn't long before Ichigo was on her feet. "…I should get going," she said. "It's almost time for me to go home."

"Can I walk you there?" Ao asked.

"Maybe part of the way—Shirogane-san won't like it if I bring someone back who isn't with the Project."

"Okay."

The two pushed through the crowds in the general direction of the Mew Project base, not talking, their arms brushing as they went. The back of Ichigo's hand just barely touched the back of his, and Ao had the feeling that the Mew wanted to take his hand. The irony was killing him—she was so blatantly attracted, and all he wanted was her death. He couldn't believe how idealistic Ichigo was.

A few blocks later, she _did_ take his hand and pull him out of the crush of humanity and partway down an alley. "This is as far as you can come with me," she said.

"...So this is goodbye, I suppose?" he asked.

"For now." She lifted their joined hands between them. "I really like you, Aoyama-kun. Maybe we can meet again sometime?"

"I'd like that, Ichigo-san."

"What about next week, on Saturday? Same place, at noon?"

"It's a date," Ao said, and Ichigo blushed again.

"It's a date," the Mew agreed. "I'll see you then."

"Stay safe…Ichigo."

She giggled, blushed, and turned tail and ran. Ao watched her go, and then he slipped back into the crowd and out to the edge of the district, where his underling, Sage, was waiting for him. The silver-haired Cyniclon had tucked himself under the bullet train trestle, but as soon as the coast was clear, he floated down to street-level.

_"Lorem is back, sir,"_ he said.

_"Not here,"_ Ao replied, grabbing the other alien's arm and teleporting back to the ship.

That was his primary gloat point, Ao thought, landing them gracefully in a hallway. Lorem may have been the strongest of the three, Illium the most capable, but _he_ could truly harness their power in the way of their modern kin, and in the way the Council hypothesized they had anciently.

_"Now,"_ he said. _"What's this about Lorem?"_

* * *

Lorem heard the door of the cell dilate open and closed with a swoosh, but refused to look up from the point on the floor he'd been staring at for the last two hours, since Illium's henchman had thrown him in here. One of the Council-members had been in earlier, but he'd blocked out everything the other Cyniclon had said—something about a 'traitor to your species' and 'decide what to do with you later'. Not worth thinking about. They needed him for the Project. A black boot moved into his field of vision.

_"So Sage was right,"_ an all-too-familiar voice said. _"You _are_ back."_

Lorem tilted his face up, meeting Ao's gaze. As alike as he and Illium were, he and Ao were more similar—the same raven-black hair falling neatly down their backs, though Ao kept his longer, the same small, slender build, both a few centimeters shy of Illium. The main difference was in the eyes—Ao's were glacier-pale, Lorem's electric-blue.

_"Not willingly,"_ Lorem said quietly.

_"I don't know why you left in the first place. What were you hoping to find, Lor? That old terraformer? Worthless. That old planet is a lost cause."_

_"You always take what the Council says so literally. You realize you're just letting them control you, right?"_

_"They created us. Why shouldn't we obey them?"_

_"Maybe because there are thinking, feeling creatures down on that planet, with just as much right to life as us?"_

_"Oh, please. Don't tell me that _creature_ you joined up with got to you this much."_

_"Calliope had nothing to do with this. I came to that conclusion before I knew she existed."_

Ao snorted. _"And this is why the Council made me our leader, not you. You always were a weakling."_

_"Go jump out an airlock,"_ Lorem retorted.

_"Now that's a little harsh, don't you think?"_

_"So is genocide."_

_"It's not genocide. It's pest extermination."_

_"They evolved there too—and anyway, you might want to tell _Illium_ that, since he's taking 'pest extermination' rather personally."_

_"He's allowed to. I hear your little pet nearly broke his ribs."_

_"Calliope's not my pet, and at any rate she beat him in a fair fight."_

_"He didn't seem to think it fair."_

_"I saw the fight in question, and it was. I don't remember vengeance beatings being proper protocol for losing a fair fight."_

_"Then the next one I talk to is him."_ Abruptly, Ao grabbed Lorem's arm. _"Come on."_

_"Councilman Bay said I was to remain here until they passed judgement on me."_

_"No one mentioned something like that to me, and they can't pass judgement on a member of Project Deep Blue without my presence at any rate. And I say you're coming with me."_

Ao pulled Lorem to his feet and led him out of the cell, into the hallway. Lorem hated himself for his affection for his near-twin, for the way Ao switched between icy apathy and something approximating kindness at a moment's notice. For the way he couldn't detach himself from the other two. He sighed. Calliope would know what to do, what to say—heck, she'd all but cut her ties with the organization that had created her, why couldn't he?

_"And just _what_ is this?"_ someone asked from behind them. Lorem jolted in surprise. Ao didn't even flinch, simply turning them to face the Councilman behind them.

_"What does it look like, Councilman Bay?"_ Ao asked smoothly.

The Councilman had apparently emerged from one of the doors along the corridor, and he hovered like a vengeful specter, all flaring grey robes and violet eyes like portals to the void. He didn't even need to levitate to leverage his position, since he had ten centimeters or so over any result of the Project, though Lorem had the feeling he did it anyway to remind them that _he_ ran the Project, rather than Ao, who pushed him at every turn.

_"It looks like _someone_ is continuing to be willfully disobedient,"_ Bay said. Lorem was tempted to shrink behind Ao, as he had before his escape. He didn't. He never would again.

_"Oh, leave Lorem be. I'm taking him back to our quarters, where we can keep an eye on him ourselves."_

The Councilman raised a slim grey brow. _"Under who's supervision was he allowed to escape in the first place?"_

_"Yours,"_ Ao bit back. _"Whyever would I want to let him anywhere near those barbarians on Earth? I am not to blame for the laxness of your security."_

_"As I recall, he was in your quarters when he escaped."_

Lorem cleared his throat, something he'd picked up from Calliope and Lyra. Both heads snapped toward him. _"I'm standing right here, you know."_

_"Impertinent brat,"_ the Councilman said. He drifted forward, one hand raised.

Quicker than lightning, Ao moved between them. _"I said I'll handle Lorem myself, Bay. Don't you have a _meeting_ or something to attend?"_ His voice had gone icy.

The grey-clad alien glowered, but by Ao's posture, Lorem knew his clone had won. No one on the Council actually dared lay a hand on a member of the Project, no matter what Bay might threaten. They were too important, and everyone remembered the incident that should have terminated Illium, if there had been more of them. The Councilman brushed past the pair, moving farther down the hall and into the bowels of the ship. Lorem watched him go, then turned his gaze back to Ao.

_"Come on, Lorem. I'm not going to wait for him to come back,"_ Ao said.

Lorem nodded and followed, apparently obedient, but his mind was working overtime. That tension…he could use it. He just had to play his cards right.

They wound through the halls of the ship, deep into its titanium heart, where Project Deep Blue had been housed from the very beginning. Most of the scientific equipment that filled the space in Lorem's earliest memories was long gone, relocated to other parts of the ship that required them, like the chimaera labs. These days, the space housed the three successful results of the project, and for years, it had been considered the most secure location on the ship. Until Lorem had slipped the security systems, that is. Ao paused at the door, letting the retinal scanner do its work, and walked in. Lorem followed close behind. He stopped a few steps in, though—Illium was sprawled on the floor of their shared living space, toying with his nano-weapon. They locked eyes, both going perfectly still.

_"Well, would you look who it is,"_ Illium drawled. "_The human-lover. I didn't think I'd have to look at your face for a lot longer than this."_

_"Just until the next time you saw a mirror,"_ Lorem retorted, glaring. _"I'm going to make you pay for what you did to Calliope, you know."_

_"The beast deserved it. Stupid creature, thinking it was better than me—"_

Lorem lunged, unable to reign in his temper for a terrifying second. Then Ao grabbed his collar and hauled him backwards, away from the blond.

_"Stop that, both of you,"_ he hissed. _"If you keep this sort of behavior up, I'm going to lock both of you in your rooms."_

_"Since when are you in charge?"_ Illium demanded. _"Last time I checked, Councilman Bay was still the leader of the Project."_

_"He's proving himself incompetent."_

_"Competent enough that we already have one target down. Now that Lorem's back, we can work on taking down the remaining two. The North Pole should be a cakewalk—shame we can't just send _that one_ down to do what he was _supposed_ to do in the first place, since he'll just run off again."_

_"Not all of us enjoy murder, Illium."_

_"It's not murder when it comes to those things. And anyway, Ao, who are you to talk about competent when your own team has yet to take your target?"_

_"I'm working on it,"_ Ao said. _"Tokyo Mew Mew is a tough nut to crack, but I've found their weakness, and with the uncooperative members of my team removed, I can obliterate them. A few more weeks, no more." _He tilted his head, long, black hair falling over one shoulder. _"And if you'd like to tackle Lorem's Pole, feel free. He certainly won't be doing it until we can get him to let go of his terraformer idea."_

_"It will work,"_ Lorem said. _"It _will_. Just let me prove it!"_

Ao put a hand on Lorem's shoulder. _"We both know that planet is beyond repair. If the terraformer had been an option a century ago, it might have worked, but it's too late now."_

_"And what about the people we don't have the fuel to bring to Earth? Do we leave them to die?"_

Icy blue eyes narrowed. _"Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made for the greater good."_

_"Sometimes, we should think about the net cost of those sacrifices. An entire species for, what, two-thirds of our own, or—"_

_"Or what, our entire species for a far-fetched idea? At any rate, your terraformer idea is done with now. You're here, and your human can't possibly repair or recreate that device on her own, much less make it work."_

_"Maybe _Calliope_ can't, but there are others who can, and she knows how to find them. She knows what she's not good at, and she knows how to find people who can fill in for those weaknesses."_

Ao's head tilted to study him, almost thoughtfully, and Lorem's heart surged. He wasn't sure what caused the shift in his clone's expression, but he knew one thing for sure.

He could use it.


End file.
